When Shrimp Bait Hooks a Titan "Mr. Narwhal, look over there... " As I prepared to move, Aioi suddenly froze. "No. Over there, other side of the crater. "Oh..." I followed her gaze and felt a chill. Across the crater, a hulking Wild Xeno Beast crouched, its single bloodshot eye locked onto us. At first glance, it resembled a massive humanoid figure. But its shaggy fur, exaggerated hunch, and glaring cyclopean eye marked it as unmistakably a Xeno beast. It's hard to gauge distance with it on the opposite side of the near big crater, Even from this distance, its size was apparent—nearly three meters tall, an imposing void predator. A Void Titan. One of the most dangerous Wild Xeno species. "So, what’s the plan?" Aioi set her rod down, reaching for her plasma blaster. Fishing was officially over. Drawing my energy blade, I assessed the situation. Void Titans are high-risk xenos: monstrously strong, almost mindless, and completely fearless. They don’t...

Expert's Guide to Not Catching Void Shrimp Fresh from the Guild Training Camps, rookie recruits are little more than stardust on the cosmic winds—novices unfit for the rigors of the frontier. To begin with, they’re hopeless for security duties. These are just kids from the outlying colonies, rough-edged and green, with no elder’s blessing or influential connections to their name. If they had ties to a planetary councilor or some revered guildmaster, perhaps they’d manage to secure a formal introduction—maybe even snag a job worth its weight in Nova Credits. But reality is cruel, and no one entrusts vital tasks to a nameless whelp. Resource gathering? A fool’s errand for them. The fertile worlds near trade routes have long since been stripped of their treasures. Any flora or mineral worth trading has already been harvested down to the last root. If they’re desperate to gather, they’ll have to venture deep into the asteroid belts or further into uncharted nebulae. Even the grunt work...

When Crew Names Outshine The Galaxies …I suppose it’s redundant to explain what they are at this point, but just in case there’s some poor, isolated sap drifting out there with their comms fried, muttering to themselves, “Guild crews? Like squadron fleets…?” Allow me to clarify. There *are* some subtle differences, after all. Crews are the backbone of the Guild system—small (or not so small) teams formed by multiple guild members, bound together by shared goals, skills, and sometimes just a mutual tolerance for each other’s quirks. Any group of two or more can register as a crew. They’ll gain access to exclusive mission postings, and they can even post their own contracts under the crew’s designation. Think of it like the old starship teams of ancient Earth’s stories—a captain, a pilot, an engineer, a medic, and so on. Easy enough to understand if you imagine something like that. Of course, here in the uncharted sectors, it’s rarely so perfectly balanced. Crews in this part of the gala...

Kebab to the Stars: A Boar-ing Victory There’s a cantina I frequent—a place I’d almost call my sanctuary. Sure, the Mercenary Guild mess hall on the station is convenient, but it’s overpriced, the synthesized menu is uninspired, and the atmosphere is too sterile, too professional. It’s designed for brief encounters, mission discussions, and occasional deals over sub-par ration packs. They probably keep the credit rates high to prevent the hall from becoming a hangout spot for freeloaders. So, when I need something real—something with flavor—I head to a smaller establishment nearby. A modest restaurant pod with private booths, no grandiose bar or holo-luxury nonsense. Its name? **"Gift of the Nebula."** Today, the pod is busier than I’ve ever seen it. The usual hum of conversation has grown into a symphony of voices, clinking utensils, and sizzling grills. "Venusian boar kebabs, fresh off the grill!" The call rings out from the kitchen, and I don’t waste a second. ...

Engineer Commander Havoc “Huh, so this is a new product? A data stylus?" I picked it up, testing its weight in my gloved hand. "Looks more like a glorified nano-crystal rod to me.” “Apparently, it’s the latest interface device engineered by Commander Havoc, who makes this technology available to everyone,” Zoro replied, puffing up with self-importance. “You channel quantum particles through the crystalline matrix at the tip to input data. The ones here work decently enough, though I hear the higher-end versions, made with pure quantum crystal and not just nano-crystalline, interface seamlessly without a microsecond of lag. Those are prized possessions of the elite. But for the common voidborn? These are more than adequate. Don’t go scorning the depot’s best-selling product, Narwhal.” “How very altruistic of you, Zoro. Peddling these ‘affordable’ tools for the everyman. Still, calling it a quantum stylus is a bit rich when it’s not even made of actual quantum crystal.” I was a...

Void Emperor Tera Havoc “Uwhahahaha! I am the Void Emperor Tera Havoc! Tremble before my cosmic might, young cadets of Freyja Station!” “Kyaa!” “Woaah!” Inside the station's recreation dome, the children shrieked in terror, their tiny forms scattering like stardust before a towering figure clad in a helmet adorned with the massive, coiled visage of a Space Hydra. Yes, it was I, Narwhal—no! Void Emperor Tera Havoc! None shall oppose me! “Kishaaa!” “Kyaa! So scary!” “Th-this!” “Uwhahaha! Foolish cadets! Your plasma weapons are but embers in the vast expanse of my power!” “Take this! And this! Damn you!” “Ah! Striking at the joints of my battle suit, are you? A cunning trait for young spacers! But behold, the privilege of all true villains—destroying the tools of my enemies!” With a triumphant snap, I broke the training baton wielded by a particularly brave child. “Ah! You broke it!” “Uwhahahaha! Only one thing can defeat the Void Emperor Tera Havoc—the stellar energy stored within co...

Pests Extermination The journey had been mercifully uneventful—no pirates lurking in the shadows of trade routes, no space vermin gnawing on hull plating, and no solar storms to send us spiraling into Havoc. Mr. Healer, who had started the journey looking like a ghost haunting his own suit, recovered steadily with each cycle. By the time we reached the station, he was back to his peculiar self. Yet, his way of consuming nutrient paste was unsettling—sipping thin protein slurry through trembling gloves, flashing a crooked smile through his visor like an unhinged automaton. Energetic or not, watching him eat made me want to turn off my external cameras. "Harvest cycles always bring such liveliness to these places..." Our destination, Freyja Station, sat far from the familiar or the convenient—a lonely agricultural outpost orbiting in the silent void. Isolated from major hubs and light-years from my home station of Baldr, Freyja was the kind of place where you could scream into ...

Old Ships, Older Jokes, and One Very Tired Doctor The Lunatran Empire sprawls across the void like a cosmic tapestry, its dominion vast and fertile. Most of its worlds are terraformed jewels, planetary gardens engineered for agricultural supremacy. These are not mere fields of grain but celestial farms, brimming with hydroponic towers and protein vats that sustain billions. Around them, gentle planetary rings and scattered asteroid clusters orbit like silent sentinels. Through the heart of this empire flows a colossal plasma stream—a radiant river of ionized energy, a blessing from the stars themselves. Yet, even in this abundance, there are limits. Exotic matter and heavy elements remain elusive, a scarcity almost inconsequential next to the unbroken waves of nutrient-rich grain flowing from the fields to the stars. The Lunatran Empire's very identity is tied to its agricultural might. Its emblem—a harvester ship encircled by a planetary ring—proclaims its nature. These massive in...